


Open Windows

by watanuki_sama



Series: Windows [2]
Category: Common Law
Genre: 5+1 Things, AU, M/M, More breaking and entering, Pre-slash leading to slash, Shenanigans, Some alcohol and drunkenness, Wes has cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five (more) times Travis climbed through Wes’s window, and one time he used the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Windows

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 12.14.15.

_“Did you wait for a sign to fly right through your window_  
_While you missed the answer walking through your door?”_  
_—Fisher, “Oblivious”_

\---

1.

\---

Wes is on the phone when he arrives, stirring something on the stove with his back to the window. Travis carefully slides the sash up and slips in, landing quietly.

Somehow, Wes still knows Travis is there, turning to look over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up a little. “No, Alex, the cats are fine,” he says, gesturing to his ear in the universal _I’m on the phone_ sign.

Travis makes an _I know you’re on the phone, I can see that_ face and wanders over, leaning over Wes’s shoulder to peer into the pot. Travis doesn’t know what it is but it smells delicious.

Wes nudges him with his elbow. “Actually, I’ve gotten another cat,” he says. It takes Travis a second to realize Wes is talking to the person on the phone—he’s already looking for a feline addition to the household.

“That’s right,” Wes says with a mischievous sideways look at Travis. “Picked up a stray that crawled through the window.”

Oh, Wes is talking about _him_.

Well, ‘stray cat’ is better than ‘drunk, possibly homeless intruder that keeps climbing through the window,’ so there’s that.

“You know how it is.” Wes uses his hand this time to push Travis away. “Once you feed them, you can’t get rid of them.” He pauses, listening. Then he laughs. “Exactly, it’s _just_ like that.”

Travis is a little bit jealous of the unknown Alex that can make Wes laugh so easily. He’s been trying for ages and the most he tends to get is a small, amused smile.

Travis moves to the breakfast bar in a sulk, snatching Batman up as he goes. The cat doesn’t protest, going limp in his arms and purring like a steam engine.

Wes nods at whatever he hears. “Definitely. Okay, I’ll see you Monday.” His lips curl up, eyes softening in a look Travis doesn’t think he’s supposed to see. “Bye, Alex.”

Travis feels a little uncomfortable, like he just walked in one something private and intimate. He doesn’t like it.

He clears his throat once Wes has hung up. “Who was that?” he asks, trying for casual but not quite sure he makes it.

Wes tosses the phone to him. Like a ninja made of _awesomeness_ , Travis catches it, cat in hand. “Put that in the cradle,” Wes orders.

Travis rolls his eyes but obeys. “So. Who’s Alex?”

“Not that it is _any_ of your business _whatsoever_ , Alex is my ex.” Wes stares at the pot and stirs. “The one who named the cats.”

“Batman and Robin? Good taste.”

Wes gives him a flat look. “Pro Bono and Tortfeasance.”

Travis crinkles his nose. “Not so good taste.”

Wes rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. Travis studies him, the line of his back and shoulders. There’s nothing overt, but Travis thinks Wes seems kind of sad.

Travis kind of doesn’t want Wes to be sad.

“We should go out,” he offers jauntily. “You, me. Food and wine. I bet I can make you forget all about your ex.” He wiggles his eyebrows with a pointed leer.

The blonde huffs something halfway to a laugh. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, shaking his head.

It’s a pretty clear dismissal, because Wes obviously thinks the offer was a joke, so Travis doesn’t ask again.

But it’s okay, because Wes’s shoulders have come up and he no longer radiates sadness like a whisper-thin fog.

\---

2.

\---

The apartment is quiet when Travis slips through the window. It’s not entirely uncommon, though it’s been a bit more unusual now that his window-based ingresses are more regular. It’s like Wes doesn’t trust him alone in the apartment too long for fear that Travis will abscond with his cats and all his leftovers or something.

Which, okay, that’s entirely possible at some point, because Travis loves those damn cats and Wes’s leftovers are always fantastic, so Travis can see where that’s coming from.

But tonight the apartment is quiet, and Batman comes up and twines herself around his ankles like she hasn’t had human contact in years, which is weird because Wes totally dotes on his cats even if he pretends like he’s above all that. Travis frowns and picks up the feline, cuddling her to his chest.

“Where’s your daddy, baby?” he coos, scratching her head as he steps further into the apartment. “Where did daddy go?”

He spots the blue sticky note on the fridge the same time the phone rings. There’s a quick shuffle as Travis answers the phone and tries to read the note while simultaneously not dropping the cat. He manages.

“Wesley’s House of Booze and Porn, how can I help you?”

“…I sincerely hope you answered like that only because you knew it was me.”

Travis grins at Wes’s voice, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? You bought me shrimp?”

The blue sticky note in his hand says, in Wes’s neat block letters, ‘EAT THE SHRIMP BEFORE IT GOES BAD’. Travis checks; there is indeed a small container of shrimp, along with an adorably tiny container of cocktail sauce.

Wes sighs in his ear; Travis can hear him rolling his eyes. “I didn’t buy you shrimp, I bought myself shrimp. There were just extras, and they’ll go bad by the time I get home.”

Food wins out over cat, and Travis deposits Batman onto the floor to pull the shrimp and cocktail sauce out. “Where are you, anyway?”

“A conference. It’s in Vegas, so I thought I could drive back tonight, but it’s running late so I don’t think I will.”

“Vegas? Are you gonna hit the tables?”

There was definitely another eye roll there. “I’m not here to go _gambling_ , Travis.”

Travis grins and munches on a piece of shrimp. “It’s _Vegas_ , baby, that’s all it’s good for.”

Wes makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a chuckle, and Travis counts it as a win. “Anyway, since I won’t be home tonight, I’ll need you to feed the cats. Tonight and tomorrow morning.”

“Can do,” Travis mumbles around the shrimp. “Wha’ kinda food?”

“If you’re going to stuff your mouth, at least wait until I hang up,” Wes grumbles, and Travis grins. “There’s a note by the kibble, bottom shelf next to the stove.”

Travis noisily swallows, bending to open the aforementioned shelf. “Gotcha. Kibble for the kitties, can-do.”

“It’s a little more than just kibble, Travis,” Wes retorts, amusement in his words. “You got them hooked on canned food, too.”

The sticky note on the inside of the cabinet has precise ratios of dry kibble to canned food. Travis is half-certain Wes measures to make sure it’s all correct and everything. No way in hell he’s going to go that far.

“I appreciate that your notes are so concise,” Travis muses, standing once more. “I can just feel how much thought you put into them.”

Seriously, Wes’s eye rolls are a thing of power—Travis swears there’s an actual, tangible force made of pure sarcasm coming through the phone line.

“Just make sure to close the window when you leave,” Wes tells him. “I don’t want the cats to get out.”

“Hey, maybe I came through the door this time!” Travis leans against the counter, watching Batman and Robin watch him. He has had the felines’ attention since he picked opened the Tupperware. It’s a bit unsettling, but Travis thinks he can take them.

On the other end of the line, Wes scoffs. “The only time you’ve gone through my door is when I’ve kicked you out. So make sure you close the window.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Your cats are giving me these really intense eyes, man.”

“That’s because you’re eating shrimp, Travis. Don’t let your guard down or they’ll steal it all.”

Travis can’t tell from Wes’s tone whether he’s teasing or not. He tucks the Tupperware a little closer to his chest.

There’s a tinny voice in the background, and Wes sighs. “Well, back to the grind. I’ll talk to you later.”

Travis grins. “ ‘cuz you’re gonna miss me?”

“To check on the cats, idiot.” 

Travis’s grin just gets wider. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

Seriously, Wes should learn to bottle that eye-rolling of his. Travis could sell it and make millions. Sarcasm In A Bottle. “Bye, Travis.”

“Talk to ya later, Wes.”

The other man hangs up. Travis sets the phone down and lets a slow grin cross his face. “You know what this means?” he confides in the cats, voice pitched low as though someone else might be listening. “This means he _trusts_ me. He trusts me with your wellbeing, even if it’s only for one night. That’s pretty huge, you know.”

The cats don’t so much as blink.

He makes a satisfied sound and brings another piece of shrimp to his mouth, staring at the cats. The cats continue to watch him—or, more accurately, they watch the progress of each piece of shrimp as it journeys to his mouth. After a minute, he wonders aloud, “If I gave you some yummy kibble, would you stop staring at me like you’ll rip through me for this shrimp?”

The cats give him flat, disinterested stares and fixate on the next piece of shrimp.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

\---

3.

\---

“Dude,” Travis slurs, sliding inelegantly through the window to puddle on the floor. “Your window’s open again.”

Wes sighs from the vicinity of the couch. “You’re drunk. Oh, how I’ve missed this.”

The sarcasm is so thick even Travis can hear it. Doesn’t stop him from climbing to his feet and making his unsteady way to the couch.

“Dude,” he breathes, slumping against the back. “You keep your window open, yer gonna come home and all your shit’s gonna be gone.”

“Really.” Wes turns a page in his book, bland disinterest in his tone. “I doubt that. Who else would bother scaling the wall into my window but you?” Blue eyes peer up at him. “You haven’t taken any of my stuff yet. I have faith you’ll hold back.”

“Let’s go out,” Travis suggests. “I’ll call some of my brothers, and when we come back, it’ll all be gone.”

“As appealing as _that_ sounds, I’m going to have to pass.” Wes turns another page. “Besides, who would dare cross the caped crusaders to take my stuff?”

Travis crows in triumph, sending the caped crusaders in question skittering for the corners of the room. “Caped crusaders! You finally admit your lawyer names are stupid names for cats!” He does a half-assed touchdown dance against the back of the couch.

Wes looks at him with something that, on another person and through the fuzzy haze of alcohol, looks almost like fond affection. Or maybe exasperation.

“You’re drunk,” Wes says, closing his book. He stands; the cats immediately return to curl up on the warm spots. 

Travis shrugs. “Just a little bit.”

Wes crooks half a smile. “I’m not getting you a blanket. You’ll probably be more comfortable at Paekman’s.” He turns towards the bedroom. “But you can sleep on the couch if you want.”

Travis stares at his retreating back. “You don’t mind?”

“Nope.” Wes waves over his shoulder. “The cats might, though.”

“Naw.” Travis leans down, grinning at the two pairs of jewel-toned eyes staring up at him. “Batman and Robin are cool. We’re all cool. It’s good.”

Wes chuckles from the doorway. “Goodnight, Travis.” The door shuts quietly behind him.

It takes some maneuvering, but Travis makes enough room for the cats and himself. He doesn’t need a blanket; it’s warm enough with the fuzzy little furnaces cuddled close.

Travis buries his face in the couch cushion and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

\---

4.

\---

It’s always risky to come during the day. Wes’s side of the building may have less visibility from the street and neighboring buildings than Paekman’s, but there are still windows. Still people who could call the cops if they see someone scrambling up the wall and through the window. Somehow, if the cops are called, Travis doesn’t think that conversation will go well.

_“Yes, officer, I did climb through the window, but I’m not a robber. You see, I’m teaching the guy who lives here a lesson.”_

Yeah. He’d end up in cuffs faster than he could say “Wes is my friend.” Logic alone dictates he should avoid coming during the day.

But daytime is the best time for this sort of thing, because Wes is at work. And since Travis has set his mind to this, he is using his precious day off to make a point.

He scampers up the drainpipe, faster, he thinks, than he’s ever done in his life, and when he slithers through the window, he hits the ground. He stays down for a good minute, maybe more—long enough that not only Batman but Robin as well come to nose curiously at him. It’s a silly stupid thing; if someone _did_ see him and decided to call the cops, hiding behind the wall isn’t going to save him. But whatever, it makes him feel better.

When he deems an appropriate amount of time has passed, he climbs to his feet, pulling out his supplies. He came prepared, stacks of sticky notes in his pocket and a sharpie clipped to his collar. He looks around the room, marker in hand, and he grins.

He starts with the kitchen, and he takes his time. The food processor goes, along with the blender, the crockpot, and half a dozen other appliances Travis only vaguely recognizes. He takes the microwave, too, and four Tupperware containers of delicious-looking leftovers.

He takes the TV and the bitchin stereo system. There’s not much else in the living room, but he takes a few more things just because. Who knows what pawn shops will take.

He takes about half of Wes’s stash of toothpaste and hair gel, but leaves the floss and extra toothbrushes. There’s not much in the medicine cabinet, mostly OTC drugs like Tylenol and hydrogen peroxide. Just for the hell of it, he takes those too.

In the bedroom there are a couple of orange prescription bottles on the nightstand. Travis doesn’t peer too closely at the labels as he does his thing. This isn’t about snooping or prying.

This is about flat-out theft.

The closet contains a lot of very expensive clothing. It all goes. There’s also jewelry of a very manly persuasion—cufflinks and tiepins and who knows what else. Travis stares for a long minute before just taking the entire box.

It takes over an hour to catalog the entire apartment. When he’s done, Travis puts his hands on his hips and looks around the room in pride. He did good. _Completely_ cleaned out Wes’s place. He deserves to be rewarded, and Paekman will have beer.

Three beers and almost two episodes of Law & Order later, there’s an annoyed pounding on Paekman’s door. Paekman gets up to answer; a second later Wes stomps in.

“You bastard.”

“Shut up, Wes. They’re about to read the verdict.”

A crumpled wad of sticky notes hits the back of his head. “The verdict is you’re an ass.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be ‘not guilty’.”

Another wad of sticky notes hits him in the back of the head. “The hell with that, you’re guilty as _sin_.”

Travis pauses the TV, takes a moment to thank God and Paekman for DVR, and turns to face Wes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he declares, putting on his most innocent expression.

A third volley narrowly misses his eye, and Wes must have torn down every sticky note he could find if he has this much ammunition already. “You big fat liar.”

Travis drops the faux-innocence and grins, stretching lazily on the couch. “I told you, man, you keep leaving your window open and someone’s gonna steal all your shit.”

Travis feels he did an exemplary job proving this point. He’d gone through over three pads of sticky notes, marking pretty much everything he could touch with notes saying ‘MINE’, ‘GONE’, and ‘THIS IS AT THE PAWN SHOP ON THE CORNER NOW’. 

Wes looks torn between dropping his face into his hands and wrapping his fingers around Travis’s neck and throttling him. “How many notes are there?” he questions, in a tone of voice that suggests the option he chooses will depend very heavily on what Travis’s answer is.

“A lot,” Travis chirps cheerfully, and is more than a little amused when Wes groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I hate you,” the blonde says, turning towards the door. “I hate you so much. I’m changing the locks on my windows.”

“Check your cats,” Travis hollers at Wes’s back. “I stole them too!” He had, two sticky notes carefully affixed beneath their collars that proclaim ‘THEY’RE MINE NOW, MWAHAHAHA!’

One more sticky note bullet bounces off his forehead, and Travis laughs as Wes stomps out. 

\---

5.

\---

Travis is halfway through the window before he realizes the person sitting on the couch isn’t Wes. He freezes, one leg thrown over the sill, and engages in a blank-faced staring contest with the pretty dark-haired lady on Wes’s couch for a minute or two. She looks just as surprised to see Travis as Travis is to see her, because let’s face it, neither of them were expecting this. Travis figured it would be _Wes_ here, and this lady—whoever she is—certainly did not come over here thinking a strange man would be climbing through the window.

There is a moment when the pretty lady realizes that yes, there is in fact a strange man climbing through the window. Travis sees this moment, and he panics, because following this moment is the realization that she is alone and _there is a strange man climbing through the window_ , and this is usually when the cops are called.

Sure enough, her hand reaches for the phone on the table in front of her.

“Nonono, don’t call the cops!” Travis’s words come out in a rush, and he holds up his hands, but he doesn’t leap into the room to grab the phone because he’s not _stupid_ , that’s a bad idea in any situation, much less his current predicament. “I’m Wes’s friend!” he says, even quicker than before, because her fingers are moving on the keypad and he really does not want to have to explain to the cops what’s going on here.

The pretty lady’s fingers pause, and while she continues staring at him, her eyes narrow in a way Travis recognizes, like she’s studying him. Wes gets that look sometimes, when he’s trying to look through him and figure something out. 

He doesn’t move as her fingers resume dialing, because seriously, he’s not going to go there, and if she calls the cops he can be down the wall and halfway down the block before they get here. But the number is a lot longer than 9-1-1, so maybe she’s not calling the cops after all.

Without taking her eyes from him, she lifts the phone to her ear and says, “Wes, there’s a man climbing through your window claiming to be your friend.”

On the one hand, yay, she’s definitely not calling the cops! On the other hand, she’s calling Wes, and while Travis and Wes have a little _understanding_ about the whole window-crawling thing, it’s a bit harder to explain to, like, everyone—even Paekman doesn’t get it, and Paekman has been watching this happen between Travis and Wes for months now. 

The pretty lady’s brow scrunches at whatever Wes says, and her eyes narrow even further. “I thought you said you got a stray cat, not a stray _person_ ,” she says, and now Travis has an inkling of who she is, at least. Because Travis had been standing right there when Wes had that conversation.

This, then, is (most probably) Alex, the ex-girlfriend. And she’s really very pretty and she’s also sitting in the middle of Wes’s living room, and Travis kind of doesn’t know how he feels about that. Except maybe that he sort of wants to shimmy out of here real quick, and not just because of the potential cop problem.

“Uh-huh,” Alex is saying, rising from the couch. Travis still doesn’t move, really, that just isn’t a good idea at _all_ , and he’s perfectly content like this, hunched in the window with one leg dangling to the floor and the other kind of scrunched up in Wes’s flower boxes and squishing the poor flowers. No big deal.

She’s still giving him that assessing gaze as she crosses the room, holding the phone out to him. Gingerly, careful not to touch, Travis takes it from her and brings it to his ear. “Hello.”

Wes’s sigh is long-suffering and annoyed, but Travis thinks he detects just the slightest hint of amusement in there too. “It’s not a good time, Travis,” the man on the other end of the line says.

Travis eyes Alex, who has returned to the couch and continues to watch Travis like a particularly interesting specimen of humanity. “Uh…yeah, I can see that.” Lowering his voice so she can’t hear, Travis says, “This is Alex, right? Your ex?”

He doesn’t ask the question he really wants to, like _why is she here_ , because that’s…well, that’s not of his business, technically. Because while he and Wes have the flirty-flirty thing going on, they’re not dating or anything, so it shouldn’t matter if Wes is thinking about getting together with his ex again or not, it totally doesn’t matter at all.

Wes gives another one of those drawn-out sighs. “She’s helping me with a case. That’s all. So stop thinking whatever you’re thinking.”

It’s kind of sad how much better Travis feels, hearing that. He has issues. But knowing is half the battle and blah blah blah.

“I don’t know,” he drawls, covering everything up under a callow sort of charm, because there are some things he hardly admits to himself, let alone other people. “What I’m thinking could be awfully fun…”

“Uh-huh.” The dry sarcasm in Wes’s voice just makes Travis chortle. It’s so much like their typical interactions he almost forgets he has an audience aside from the cats until Wes says, “Anyway, if you could come back another night,” and sort of trails off, and that’s when Travis remembers all too sharply that, oh yeah, he’s still hanging half out of the window and Wes’s ex-girlfriend is still sitting on the couch.

“Right.” He gives Alex an apologetic half-smile and makes an _I’m almost done here_ motion. “Yeah, no, of course. I’ll come back tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tomorrow would be fine,” Wes says, and Travis can hear his eyes rolling and it makes him laugh again. He says a quick goodbye and hangs up, finally venturing fully into the room. Alex is still watching him with that lawyer-gaze, but she no longer looks suspiciously wary. Wes’s recommendation goes a long way, apparently.

He puts on his reassuring face and sets the phone on the corner of the coffee table, keeping a polite distance between them. “Sorry about this, I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He really hadn’t meant to startle her like that, and he wouldn’t have come over if he’d known she’d be there. He’s not that kind of guy.

He’s almost to the window when she says, quietly, “He talks about you a lot.”

Travis pauses with one hand on the sash. “I…really?”

Alex’s smile is amused, in a way, and a little bit crooked at the corner. “Well. He talks about the stray cat that visits a lot, which, technically, is you, so…” She shrugs, and Travis is getting a little unnerved at the way she’s not looking away even a little. “He talks about you more than he talks about Bono or Tort.”

It takes him a second to realize she’s talking about Batman and Robin, because they had stupid lawyer-names that he’d deleted from his mind because they were so dumb. “Really? That’s weird. He loves those cats.”

This time the smile she sends his way is much too knowing. “Exactly.” 

Oh. _Oh_. Well, that’s…

Travis doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

He lingers in the window, trying to come up with _something_ to say. Alex takes pity on him. “You should bring him flowers. He likes flowers.”

Travis chuckles. “Yeah, I already tried that. Didn’t get me far.”

“Well.” She leans back, and Travis can all of a sudden see why Wes was drawn to her in the first place. She has the same kind of quiet power about her that Wes does, a calm confidence that could bend steel. “Maybe you’re not taking the right approach, then.”

Travis swings his legs over the windowsill. “I’ll think about that, thanks.” With a little wave over his shoulder, he slithers out; her words follow him down the wall.

\---

+1.

\---

Maybe the flowers are a bit much. Travis looks at the bright bouquet in his hand and winces. Also, maybe ‘a bit much’ is an understatement. He’d gone into the florist’s and asked for a bouquet that was nice, but understated. “I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard,” he’d told her, hands waving as she’d selected some very nice flowers he knew nothing about, “because that would just look desperate, you know. But I don’t want it to look like I had someone else do the entire thing, I want it to look like I at least _tried_ , you know? Ooh, maybe throw in some of those orange-y things?”

So now he has a profusion of flowers and leaves, because the florist had very kindly stuck in _every single one of his suggestions_ with an amused smirk on her face that said she routinely indulged in this kind of backseat bouquet-making. And Travis, who knows nothing about flowers beyond ‘roses are romantic’ and ‘snapdragons are good in window boxes’, said the end result looked lovely and bought the thing.

He shakes his head and knocks on the door before he loses his nerve. “Next time I’m just getting _one_ flower,” he declares to the hallway, the plastic wrap around the bouquet crinkling in his fidgeting grasp.

This is no big deal. It will be fine. Just like any other time he’s swung by. Except this time he’s brought flowers—ones that hopefully say he isn’t trying too hard, though he’s suspecting the exact opposite message is being conveyed here—and he’s sort of got this, like, fluttering in his stomach which he hasn’t felt since the first time he asked a girl out, and god, he has fallen so deep.

It takes an eternity and a half for Wes to open the door, and when he does his eyebrows go right up his forehead. “Travis. You’re here.” The blonde glances over his shoulder, like he’s checking to make certain Travis isn’t actually crawling through the window instead. “At my door. Are you trying something new?”

“You know what they say.” Travis shrugs nonchalantly. “Surprises keep the romance alive.”

Wes lounges against the door like a puma, and it’s ridiculously hot in all sorts of ways Travis isn’t going to try and articulate right now. “Is that so,” he says, a smirk curling the edges of his lips up. “So, what’s up?”

“Um.” Travis thrusts the profusion of flowers at Wes. “These are for you. I figured, if you were free tonight, maybe we could go out.”

Wes takes the flowers, eyes dancing above the blooms. “Like a date?” he teases, stretching the last word, and Travis flushes. _God_ , this is stupid, he’s acting like a teenager. And the worst part is he kind of enjoys it.

Wes is different than anyone else Travis has ever tried to date, and Travis thinks that might be part of the charm.

“Yes, of course like a date,” he blusters, crossing his arms to cover his embarrassment. Wes probably sees right through him, he’s a defense lawyer and seeing through people is one of the things he probably has to know to do his job or something. “Do you want to go or not?”

He waits, expecting rejection. Expecting Wes to say, politely and amused but with no room for argument, “Not right now, ask me again tomorrow,” just like every other time Travis has asked, and the anticipation thrums through him like a livewire. 

“Hmm.” Wes pulls the flowers away, studying the brightly-colored blossoms, and hums thoughtfully. “Sure. Let me feed the cats and grab my jacket.”

And he turns and strolls into the apartment, leaving the door open just a sliver of a crack.

Travis blinks. “I…what?” He pushes the door open, scooping Batman up before she can make a bid for freedom. “What do you mean, _sure?_ ”

“Sure. Yes. Alright.” Wes pours kibble into two bowls, adding a spoonful of canned cat food and mixing it in. (They’d had a conversation about that, Wes annoyed that Travis kept buying canned food and spoiling the cats, and Travis buying the canned food anyway.) Without looking up, he adds, “ _Si_ , though that’s really the only Spanish I know, aside from counting to ten. I think _everyone_ can count to ten.”

Travis stares at him. Batman takes this opportunity to escape his clutches and leap onto the counter. Travis continues to stare.

“I don’t…what? Yes? Just like that?”

Wes deposits the bowls of kibble to the floor and heads for the closet. “Of course not just like that. It’s been _months_ , Travis. Honestly, I thought you’d be quicker on the uptake than this.” There’s a very distinct _Dumbass_ hidden in the words, along with more than a little amused affection.

Travis’s brain has, quite possibly, short-circuited somewhere along the way, because he’s usually pretty good about figuring out what’s going on and right now he has absolutely _no idea_. “Man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wes shrugs into his jacket, humor dancing in the corners of his lips. “Well, Travis, you’ve finally asked me out properly, so I said yes.” He smirks. “I think I mentioned before. I’m not really in the habit of dating people who break into my home.”

Travis stares.

And stares.

He opens his mouth.

And finally, he gets it.

“Oh. Wow.” Travis pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve been saying no all this time because you’ve been waiting for me to come in through the door?”

“Yes.”

Travis chuckles and shakes his head. “God, Wes, you are something else.”

“So I’ve been told.” Wes tugs at his sleeves, the façade cracking just enough for Wes to look momentarily vulnerable. “Are you still interested?”

“Am I—” Travis bites off the incredulous retort, because it looks like Wes is actually asking him, not just teasing. Which means someone, somewhere along the way, actually turned Wes down once they caught wind of his twisty little brain, and Travis can’t understand that because Wes’s twisty little brain is his most interesting part.

“Am I still interested?” He takes two huge steps forward, linking his arm with Wes’s like the blonde will bolt if he doesn’t grab hold now. “Sure. Yes. Alright.” He tugs Wes, unresisting, to the door, scooting cats gently out of the way with his feet. “ _Si_. And, by the way, I happen to know a lot more Spanish than just numbers,” he adds flirtatiously.

Wes’s lips curl up, and Travis marvels at the patience and sheer tenacity it took to play this little game for months on end. A game Travis didn’t even know he was playing until he won.

He cannot _wait_ to see where this is going to go.


End file.
